Where Love Abides

222 Pages·2016·1.36 MB·English

by  Hannon Irene

For he has freed my soul from death, my eyes
from tears, my feet from stumbling.
—Psalms 116:8
��
To Dr. Andrew Youkilis—
With deepest gratitude for your surgical skill,
compassionate care and
extraordinary kindness
Chapter One
G
reat. Just great.
Sheriff Dale Lewis regarded the small pickup truck on the
shoulder of the road, facing the wrong way and tilted at an
odd angle. It looked like his already long day was about to
get longer.
Stifling a sigh, he took a final sip of tepid coffee and eased
his patrol car off the wet pavement. As he settled the dis-
posable cup back into the holder, he scanned the truck, illu-
minated in the glare of his headlights. It had Missouri plates
and looked brand-new, but he’d never seen it before. Must not
belong to anyone around Oak Hill. He knew most of the
vehicles from his hometown on sight.
As he keyed the license number into the laptop beside him
and waited for the results to appear on the screen, he surveyed
the drenched landscape. Considering how dry the entire
month of August had been, he knew the area farmers would
consider the much-needed rain a blessing.
But he suspected the driver of the truck wouldn’t agree.
The pavement could be dangerously slick around this bend
when dampened after a dry spell, as the person behind the
8 Where Love Abides
wheel had discovered. It was too dark to see the road, but he
figured he’d find skid marks come daylight.
When the license information came back, he gave it a
quick scan. The vehicle was registered to a Christine Turner,
and everything was clean. The name seemed familiar some-
how, but he couldn’t place it. And he was too tired to try. If
she’d been the driver, she must have called a family member
or friend to pick her up and abandoned the car until daylight.
Not that he blamed her. It was pitch-dark, and he was pretty
sure the respite from the earlier downpour was temporary.
Lightning continued to zigzag through the sky in the distance,
and the ominous rumble of thunder suggested the imminent
arrival of another deluge.
The truck was far enough off the highway not to cause
problems, but the driver should have put the emergency
flashers on, he reflected. Hoping the vehicle wasn’t locked,
he retrieved a flashlight and flipped on the spotlight mounted
near his sideview mirror. He needed to check it out anyway,
as a matter of routine. He could take care of the flashers at
the same time.
He circled the truck first, noting that the engine was still
pinging. Meaning it hadn’t been there long. One back tire was
fender-deep in mud, but otherwise nothing seemed amiss.
Completing his circuit, he checked the driver-side door.
Unlocked. Good.
Pulling it open, Dale started to climb up, then froze. The
cab wasn’t empty. A woman lay sprawled on the seat, one
limp arm dangling toward the floor.
A surge of adrenaline shot through him, and Dale squeezed
into the cab, balancing one knee on the seat as he leaned over
the woman. Pushing aside the shoulder-length light auburn
hair that had fallen across her face, he pressed two fingers
against her neck. A solid, strong pulse beat a steady rhythm
Irene Hannon 9
against them, and he let out a slow breath. During his twelve
years as a cop in L.A. he’d come upon too many of these kinds
of scenes with far different results. The woman might be
injured, but at least she was alive.
As Dale set the flashlight down and pulled out his cell
phone, he studied her profile. Caucasian, midthirties—and
with a very nasty bump on her left temple. He couldn’t see
any other damage, but her legs were encased in jeans and only
a sun-browned length of arm was visible beneath the short
sleeves of her cotton shirt. It was possible she’d sustained
other injuries that weren’t apparent.
Before he could tap in the numbers to summon an ambu-
lance, the woman stirred and gave a slight moan. As he leaned
over her again, her eyelids flickered open.
“Ma’am, please don’t move. I’m calling an ambulance.”
Dale kept his voice soft, trying not to startle her.
It didn’t work. Jerking her head toward his looming
presence, she winced and tried to sit up, but he put out an arm
to restrain her.
“Please, ma’am. You’ve been injured. It would be better if
you didn’t move until the EMTs check you out.”
His soothing tone, meant to calm, seemed to have the
opposite effect on her. She stared up at him in the dim light
of the cab, blinking as if trying to focus, until all at once fear
ignited in her eyes. Fumbling for the door handle on the pas-
senger side, she twisted it open and pushed, scrambling away
from him and sliding to the ground with such speed and agility
that his mouth dropped open.
Then she slammed the door in his face.
It took a second for his brain to kick back into gear, and
by the time he recovered enough to back out of the cab and
circle the truck, she was clutching a length of board she must
have retrieved from the back, holding it like a baseball bat.
10 Where Love Abides
Slowing his approach, Dale assessed the situation. It was
obvious the woman was injured. She was using the body of
the truck for support and seemed to be having trouble
focusing. It was also clear that she was frightened. He had no
idea why, but he needed to calm her down.
“Ma’am, you don’t need to be afraid. I’m a police officer.”
“I can see that.” Her voice wasn’t quite steady, but her grip
on the piece of wood was firm. He had no doubt she’d take a
swing at him if he got too close. Had she been drinking? he
wondered. But he’d smelled no alcohol, nor seen any evidence
of it, in the cab of her truck. Perhaps the bump on her head
had muddled her brain. He tried again.
“Look, you need help. I was getting ready to call an ambu-
lance when you came to. Why don’t you sit in the truck and take
it easy until you get some medical attention? I’ll help you.”
He took a step toward her, and she raised the board. “I don’t
need help. Just back off.”
Pausing, Dale regarded her through narrowed eyes. Her
reaction to his presence was weird. And suspicious, consid-
ering he was a uniformed police officer. A warning light began
to flash in his brain.
“You’re hurt, and your truck isn’t going anywhere tonight.”
He spoke in a slow, deliberate manner. “If you don’t want
medical assistance, which I strongly recommend, is there
someone I can call who could pick you up?”
“No.”
“Can I give you a lift home?”
“No. I—it’s not far. I can walk.”
“Ma’am, it’s pitch-dark, and you’re in no condition to walk
anywhere.” She was beginning to waver a bit, and it seemed
to take every bit of her concentration to maintain focus. “Be
reasonable.”
Instead of responding, she edged toward the back of the
Irene Hannon 11
truck, continuing to lean against it for support. Dale remained
where he was, fists on his hips, brow furrowed. In all his years
as a cop, he’d never met with a reaction quite like this. While
he’d had accident victims refuse medical attention, he’d never
encountered such fear and hostility in a comparable situation.
It seeped through her pores, almost tangible in its intensity.
When she got to the rear bumper, she pushed off and began
to back away from him into the darkness. It was starting to
rain again, large drops that left big, dark splotches on the
blue cotton of her shirt. In another couple of minutes, they’d
both be soaked. Whether she liked it or not, he couldn’t let
her walk away.
He took two steps in her direction, watching as terror
gripped her features. She raised the piece of wood, but
suddenly lost her grip on it and swayed. Dale closed the
distance between them in three long strides, just in time to
catch her before she went facedown in the mud, looping one
arm under her knees. Despite her half-conscious state, she
fought him, struggling to escape from his grip, every muscle
in her lean body tense.
“Please, ma’am. Try to relax. I’m not going to hurt you.
But you need medical attention. If you don’t want me to call
an ambulance, I’ll contact our doctor in Oak Hill. I’m sure
he’ll meet us at his office.”
The rain intensified, and without giving her a chance to
respond, he headed toward the patrol car, depositing her in the
passenger seat. Leaning close, he stared into her dull, slightly
glazed dark brown eyes. “Stay put. I don’t want to have to go
chasing after you in this rain. Nor do I want to have to charge
you with interfering with the duties of a police officer.” He
closed the door, praying the threat he’d pulled out of thin air
would work.
It must have, because she was still sitting there after he re-
12 Where Love Abides
trieved her purse from the floor of the truck, locked the doors
of her vehicle and slid into his seat in the patrol car. Either
that, or she was too hurt to offer further resistance.
Handing over her purse, he pulled out his phone and
punched in a number, watching her while it rang.
“Sam? Dale. Listen, sorry to have to ask this, but could you
meet me at your office? I’ve got a woman who’s been injured
in a car accident and she doesn’t want me to call an ambu-
lance. She was unconscious when I found her, and she has a
nasty bump on her temple.” Dale listened for a few moments,
answered a couple of questions, then severed the connection.
As he reached forward to turn the key in the ignition, the
woman shrank back as far as possible into the corner of the
front seat. She didn’t look at him once during the ten-
minute drive. Nor did she speak. And the instant the car
came to a stop in front of the medical office, she groped for
her door handle.
“I control the locks,” he told her. “I’ll help you out.”
As Dale circled the car, he noted Sam’s vehicle parked in
front of the building. The town physician must have left as
soon as he’d received the call, which didn’t surprise Dale.
After two years in Oak Hill, Sam Martin had become a valued
member of the community, and his responsiveness was
already legendary.
Once Dale reached her door, he released the locks and
pulled it open. She was clutching her shoulder purse against
her chest, her expression wary, and she ignored the hand he
extended, struggling to stand on her own. He dropped his
hand and kept his distance, but stayed close enough to save
her from a fall if she started to nosedive again.
“The office is there.” He nodded over his shoulder. A
light over the front door illuminated a sign that said Sam
Martin, M.D.
Irene Hannon 13
Edging around Dale, the woman headed toward the door.
Close on her heels, he leaned around her and twisted the
knob, pushed the door open, then entered behind her.
A tall, trim man with sandy hair that was brushed with
glints of silver at the temples stepped through an inner door.
“Hi, Dale.”
“Sam. Thanks for coming. I haven’t confirmed it yet, but
I think your patient’s name is Christine Turner.” At the
woman’s startled look, Dale glanced at her. “I ran a license
check. Standard procedure. And I’m Dale Lewis, just to make
things even. This is Dr. Martin.”
“We can worry about the introductions later. Right now that
bump needs attention.” Sam moved forward and tilted her chin
up, scrutinizing the injury.
Interesting, Dale noted. She didn’t seem frightened of Sam.
“Any idea how long you were unconscious?” Sam asked her.
“No. I remember sliding across the road, and the truck spun
around. I hit my head on the door window. After the truck
stopped, I unbuckled my seat belt and leaned down to pick
up my purse from the floor on the passenger side. That’s the
last thing I remember until I saw him—” she gave a short jerk
of her head in Dale’s direction “—leaning over me.”
“I don’t think she was out long,” Dale offered. “The engine
was still pinging when I arrived. A few minutes, tops.”
“That’s good. So is the fact that your memory of the event
is clear. But let’s take a look.” He stepped aside to usher her
into his office, directing his next comment to Dale. “I assume
you’re going to wait?”
“Yes.”
While Sam and Christine disappeared into the examining
room, Dale settled into a chair in the waiting area and pulled
out his cell phone. Using speed dial, the connection took
mere seconds.